


To get the fire going

by neverendingdream



Series: It only takes a spark [3]
Category: Crazy Rich Asians (2018)
Genre: Charlie is a romantic mess even at fifteen, F/M, First Meetings, Nick and Colin are little bernard-hating shits, astrid is a goddess, but are also trying to make astrid happy, i lied actually charlie is more than a romantic mess he's an embarassed awkward romantic mess, like always, that's it that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-02 02:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15787011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverendingdream/pseuds/neverendingdream
Summary: “You were my first love, and I have loved you since the day I met you at Fort Canning Church when we were fifteen.”Charlie and Astrid meet.





	To get the fire going

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astridwu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astridwu/gifts).



> this is completely book-verse, but also it _can_ be movie-verse (@john chu make it happen pls)
> 
> I JUST LOVE CHARLIE AND ASTRID SO MUCH AAAA
> 
> Btw the title of this fic and of the series is from the song Astrid sings, _Pass It On_
> 
> edit: i have reunited with my laptop so have updated tags and tried to correct any formatting errors/typos

 

At a mere fifteen years of age, Charlie Wu didn’t consider himself a romantic in any sense of the term. After all, _romantic_ seemed to better describe his old aunts, who watched soaps religiously, and cried at every wedding they attended. ( _Every. Single. One._ Even the overly ostentatious.) He thought about love, surely the same amount that any other boy his age would, or, rather, the same amount that any other boy who had been raised like _him_ would. Meaning, of course, he'd been told since he was young that _love_ was secondary. In relationships and even marriage, in the end all that really mattered was _power_. And his father was especially obsessed with the idea of power and status, because they were new money, and worse, _Mainlander_ , in a country ruled by a society of old money snobs. Or so his father liked to call them, the Chinese Singaporeans who'd been rich long before even World War II.

His mother, on the other hand, took him aside when his father was too busy being important and _powerful_. She held him close, even when he claimed he was 'too big’ to be hugged, and told him in hushed tones that his father was a smart and good man, but sometimes didn't know what was best for _his_ happiness.

“You find your own happiness, alright? That's what matters, more than any status or power,” she'd tell him in Cantonese, which she always felt more comfortable speaking, though she'd never tell Charlie's father. His father, being from Guangzhou, always insisted on them speaking Mandarin around the house, despite their living in Hong Kong.

“Mandarin is the more refined language!” He'd always claim in one of his fits of pique, storming to and fro until Charlie's mother managed to calm him. Later, she'd gossip and laugh with Ah Chee and the other servants in Cantonese, and she'd have the last laugh when they moved to Singapore and found the upper class spoke in only Cantonese and British-accented English.

By then, Charlie would be more than fluent in Cantonese, raised in secret on his mother and Ah Chee's whispered lessons and wild, dramatic stories, of all the things his father disapproved of; tragic loves and secret marriages, heroics and dramatics, adventures and more. He wouldn't consider himself a _romantic_ per se, but he couldn't deny that he enjoyed those kind of stories. And maybe, just maybe, liked to envision himself as the hero in one of them.

Despite his mother's many fanciful tales, and despite how much his father would scoff and say she knew nothing, that there was no point in a Western education if all she did with it was read fantastical stories, there was no denying that she knew the nuances and all the in’s and out’s of high society, perhaps better than even his father did.

 

Which was what made her bring both Charlie and his father to church at Fort Canning, despite all of them being Taoists, and was why he was at Fort Canning now, on the beach. With his church youth group. Trying not to get converted.

He shifted awkwardly in his place at the edge of the crowd, trying to get further away from a noisy Bernard Tai, but not too close to Nick Young, who was whispering into Colin Khoo’s ear, all while wishing he could simply sink into the sand and never emerge again. It was just like his father kept saying-- he didn't belong with this crowd, or at least, didn't feel like he did, with his Mainlander parents, with his carefully curated British accent that never came as naturally as that of the other kids’. And yet, here he was. Trying to act as if he _did_ have a place here.

He was ready to make up some excuse to leave, that everyone would accept but not _really_ care about, ready to leave and tell his mother he didn't want to go back, _screw_ whatever status it gave him to be a part of this youth group. He _was_ , except for a certain reason to stay. A reason, he called it, but what he meant was a person. Or rather, a girl. He thought of her as _the girl_ , but a better label for her would be goddess, or something like that.

In short, _the girl_ , Astrid Leong (because it could have been no other), was the reason he was still coming to these damned things every Sunday. Or, more accurately, _her smile_. Because Astrid Leong was stunningly, devastatingly beautiful, with a smile that could stop hearts, and on the first day he'd come to the youth group, she'd smiled at him when he'd stammeringly introduced himself, and, well, his heart had stopped. Stopped and started again, born anew to beat only for her, he liked to think (or something equally cheesy). The only problem was, he still hadn't worked up the courage to talk to her (or anyone, really, but mostly her) and it had already been a month since his family had started attending that church. Because Astrid Leong was utterly unattainable, especially to someone like him, and besides, he'd probably trip over himself even trying to start a conversation with her. Probably. No matter how romantic he was (or not).

And that brought him to this beach outing with his youth group (or he supposed, he was theirs, being the newcomer, he laid no claim to _them_ ), Bernard still being loud and obnoxious, Nick still whispering to Colin-- and were the two of them staring at him? He tried not to look at them. Or meet their eyes. Or do anything whatsoever to further attract their attention.

“You're Charlie Wu, aren't you?” Oh, _God._ He wasn't even Christian, but-- Colin Khoo was talking to him.

So much for sinking into the sand and disappearing. Or leaving.

“Sorry, we haven't talked before, have we?” _Nick Young_ , rich-as-balls, heir to Tyersall Park, and _Astrid’s cousin_ was talking to him. While smiling. And offering his hand. To shake.

Only Charlie's manners prevented him from saying something embarrassing. Probably about Astrid.

“Uh, yes, Charlie Wu, nice to meet you,” he replied, shaking Nick's hand and trying not to wince at his own awkward accent, so different from their smooth-as-butter ACS inflection.

“It's been what-- a month since you joined us?” Colin asked. Charlie nodded, still reeling internally.

Nick grinned.

“You're in for a treat tonight, then. Astrid only sings for us once a month, and tonight's the night. Guaranteed Bernard doesn't kill someone first. Then she'll have to kill him. And we'll all have to hide the body.”

He exchanged a look with Colin and they both laughed; clearly Bernard dying was a sort of in joke between them. Charlie shifted awkwardly, unsure of whether to laugh with them or not (or just up and _die_ , Nick had mentioned Astrid-- and so casually, too!). Colin seemed to notice his discomfort, and turned back to him, a serious expression replacing his laughter.

“Charlie,” he said, “there's no way you like Bernard, right?”

Charlie shook his head instantly, finally relaxing, if only a little.

“Of course not,” he replied, surprised at his own vehemence. “Who does?”

This time, they all laughed together, Charlie after glancing quickly over his shoulder at Bernard, who was, thankfully, much too focused on his own group of friends to notice them.

“You know,” Nick said after subsiding, “we would've unfriended you immediately if you liked him. Can't stand that Bernard.”

“He always tried to beat Nick here up when we were younger,” Colin said with a wicked grin, dodging Nick’s following punch. “Still tries to, but I save Nick’s ass every time.”

“Shut up,” Nick muttered before turning back to Charlie.

“So, your family's from Hong Kong? Welcome,” he spread his arms wide, knocking Colin in the chest in the process,“to Singapore.”

“What he means,” Colin stage-whispered, “is that our third Bernard-hating buddy, Mehmet, is gone today, so you're his replacement. Forever. We've been trying to convert the Cheng siblings, but you seemed like a more likely option.”

“I see,” Charlie said. He really didn't, but though he wanted to become friends with Nick and Colin (the father in his head was screaming “ _status!”_ but he really did like talking to them), he knew if he kept talking like this, he'd probably end up accidentally revealing his giant crush on Astrid. In a _very_ embarrassing way.

"So, Charlie,” Nick asked, elbowing Colin again, “are you ready to hear the great Astrid Leong sing?”

 

Luckily, before a word could come out of Charlie's mouth ( _I'm not ready at all, I've been waiting for this moment all my life, Astrid singing would end me_ ), a hush fell over the beach, the only sound the crashing of waves as the sun slowly sank below the horizon, enveloping them all in a velvet darkness.

A spark lit the front of the crowd for a split second before a bonfire roared to life, throwing shadows and colors across the sand. Nick nudged Colin who nudged Charlie.

“It's starting,” the two of them whispered in unison. Charlie could only nod, staring straight ahead because--

 

Because--

 

Astrid had emerged from the darkness, wearing a simple white shift, gentle curls falling past her shoulders, and in the firelight, she _glowed_. Like Botticelli's _Venus_ . Or, no, more beautiful than any work of art, more beautiful than anything, her hair shimmering with the most exquisite reds and golds, and _she was singing._

God, _he was in love._ Definitely.

(Next to him, Nick whispered in Colin’s ear, the both of them wearing knowing grins at the look on Charlie's face.)

As Astrid continued to sing, Charlie could only stare, open-mouthed. He probably had hearts in his eyes. He probably looked like the lovesick fool he was. But, _God,_ she--

He had no words. She consumed them all, consumed his entire being, his soul, too, and it was-- _hell_ , he didn't know. It just _was._ She was more than a goddess, more than Venus herself, even fifteen-year-old him could tell: _she was a force of nature._

 

And, of course, he was in love. _Very_ in love.

 

The song was over before he could even register her final notes, and they were all on their feet, applauding as if they were at the Metropolitan Opera House (she deserved it, in his not-at-all biased opinion). Before he could say another word, Colin and Nick were at either of his shoulders, herding him towards the front of the crowd, _towards Astrid._

“What are you doing?”

Nick exchanged another devious grin with Colin.

“We're going to introduce you to my cousin, what else?” He replied innocently. Colin emitted a sound suspiciously similar to a snort.

“What else, indeed,” he murmured, too quietly for Charlie to hear, though, really, nothing would have been _too loud_ , Charlie's mind was abuzz, practically on the verge of shut-down because of Nick's words. _They were going to introduce him to Astrid._

(Nick punched Colin behind Charlie's back.

“Don't ruin this!”)

They marched him all the way to the bonfire, where a group of girls had flocked around Astrid. Nick ignored them all, waving a hand high above his head and calling her name.

“Astrid! Over here!”

She glanced over at them, instantly breaking into a smile. (At her smile, Charlie instantly blushed.)

“Nicky!”

Colin ran up to her before she could reach them, whispering in her ear. They both broke into grins, then Colin gave Nick and Charlie a thumbs up.

“Good luck, mate,” Nick said, clapping him on the back. “If she kills you, we'll be sure to give you a proper funeral.”

“What?” Charlie turned to Nick in shock, ready to deny it all, that he most definitely did _not_ have a massive crush on Nick’s cousin, that he really did _not_ act friendly to them just to get an introduction, and--

 

“Don't worry,” Nick said, grinning. “I have a good feeling about you.”

 

Before he could say another word, Nick and Colin had vanished back into the crowd, and Astrid was making her way toward him, stopping to talk to choice people, but surely making her way _toward him._

And before he knew it, she was in front of him, smiling in that devastating way, and he struggled to find something to say, something _smooth_ , something _cool_ , and--

“W-what's your name?” He asked, wincing at the stutter and the sheer _stupidity_ of the question. He knew who she was. He was fairly certain everyone present knew who she was. He should've complimented her singing, or her beautiful hair, or her glorious outfit, or said something romantic, or _anything else at all._ It took an effort to not blush and end the conversation right there.

But to his surprise, instead of saying some cutting, sarcastic remark, she _laughed_. At him, no less, _but he'd made her laugh_. And he _definitely_ wasn't a romantic, not fifteen-year-old Charlie Wu, but he would've done anything to hear her laugh again. To see her smile like that again.

“Astrid Leong,” she said at last, seeming to remember her manners. There was a pause. In hindsight, he supposed he should've said his name then, but he was lost in the sparkle in her eyes, the gentle curl of her hair over her shoulder, the color high in her cheeks.

“I know you already knew that,” she continued when it was clear he wasn't responding. She tilted her head, her mischievous smile infectious.

“I know everything, you know. But, there is one thing that _I_ don't know.”

Charlie blinked once. Twice. Her eyes were fixed on his, intent. It made it _very_ hard to form coherent thoughts. He struggled for another moment, Astrid still smiling in that wicked way at him. (She tended to have that effect on everyone she talked to.)

“What?” He managed, definitely _not-at-all_ blushing. Again.

“Your name,” she replied, the bonfire throwing dramatic shadows and colors across her face, turning her wavy hair to forged gold. In that moment, fifteen-year-old Charlie decided that _screw it_ , he liked drama. He _was_ a romantic. And he was already head-over-heels, _devastatingly_ in love with the girl before him.

 

(“Charlie Wu,” he said finally, ten moments too late, as nonchalant as possible.

 

Which was, well, _not at all._ )

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~populating the CRA tag, one self-indulgent fic at a time~~  
>     
> Charlie is me in this fic don't @ me
> 
> But also Nick and Colin are me


End file.
